


Going It Alone

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Episode AU: s03e02 Wanheda Part 2, Episode: s03e02 Wanheda Part 2, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: What if Bellamy was successful in rescuing Clarke from Roan in Wanheda pt2? Some light angst, some fluff, and a happy ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 118





	Going It Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caandleknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandleknight/gifts).



> Huge thanks to the lovely Kayytrray for this prompt. We're right at the start of S3, diverging from canon in the cellar during Wanheda pt2. Happy reading!

Bellamy's scared.

He ought to be used to that by now, after months on the ground. But somehow this is a whole new kind of fear, stabbing deep in the pit of his stomach. This army is huge, crowding the clearing as far as he can see. He's on his own, out in the midst of danger. And it's not just his life on the line if he fails, here – it's Clarke's, too.

Clarke's life has always meant more to him than it probably should. Even the anger he feels at her for leaving three months ago doesn't seem to have made any difference to that, now he comes to think about it.

He presses on, takes a calming breath and tries to forget that near-miss, there, and the hulking great warrior who gave him such a fright.

He just needs to get to Clarke. Everything will be OK, if only he can save Clarke.

He knows he's going the right way when he sees the trail she's left for him, the bloody hand print on the trunk of a tree. The tree stands at the top of a flight of steps down to a cellar, a clear signpost to her location. It's almost like she knew he'd be coming after her, he muses. Almost like they can still half-read one another's minds and communicate wordlessly, even after three months apart.

The blood stain is a concern and gives new urgency to his mission, but he forces himself to keep calm and stay quiet. He cannot do anything to screw this up, because screwing this up would be as good as signing Clarke's death sentence, he fears.

He creeps down the stairs, silent, watchful. He rounds the corner, treading as quietly as he can in these borrowed boots. She's just round the corner, there – he can see her tied hand peeking round the edge of the wall.

It's going to be OK. He's so close – there's no way he's willing to let her slip through his fingers, now.

He rounds the corner, and sure enough, there's Clarke. She looks scared and filthy, but alive and more or less well, so that's the best news he's had in quite some time. And he'd like to enjoy this moment, take a second to remove the gag from her mouth and maybe even stroke the hair back from her cheek and tell her how much he's missed her, but something in her gaze stops him short.

She's trying to tell him something, her eyes darting urgently to her left, as if in warning.

He spins on the spot, and sure enough, there's a well-muscled guy – presumably her captor – bearing down on him.

Well, now. He could have done without this complication.

It's a good job he's been training with Lincoln these last three months, Bellamy spares a moment to think. It's a good job, too, that he's caught this stranger by surprise in the midst of applying some makeshift bandages to a wound on his stomach. The kidnapper puts up a good fight – a frighteningly good fight – but between the element of surprise and sheer desperation Bellamy manages to knock him out cold.

He sits there, over the unconscious body, panting hard and wondering what the hell to do next. His thigh is bleeding quite a lot, and it hurts, so he supposes maybe he should deal with that sooner or later.

He ought to free Clarke first. Obviously – that's what he came here for. But in his defence he's finding it a little tricky to think straight, what with the fighting and the fear and all. Without further delay, he turns back to Clarke and gets the gag out of her mouth. There's something about the look in her eyes, though, fierce and somehow angry, that stops him from having a go at stroking her cheek like he was considering earlier.

"Are you out of your mind?" She practically spits the words at him, the moment her mouth is free. "Going it alone like that, showing up when there's an Azgeda _army_ outside? That was impulsive, Bellamy. You could have got yourself _killed_."

Something inside of him snaps. It's been a long three months without her, and he did not need her to reprimand him for risking life and limb to rescue her. "That's rich, coming from you." He throws the words at her. "What do you call walking out into the woods alone like that? Not _impulsive_? Not asking for trouble?"

He sees her open her mouth to respond. But then she stops, gulps loudly as she closes her mouth again. He shrugs and gets on with untying the ropes that bind her. He might be angry with her, and all, but he needs these ropes to tie up the guy currently unconscious on the floor.

"Thank you for coming to get me." She whispers, after a few moments, in a rather small voice. She doesn't sound much like Clarke, and that scares him almost more than anything else that has happened today.

"You're welcome." He says, gruff, because that seems more appropriate than breaking down and admitting that he will cross as many battlefields as it takes to keep her safe.

"We should take him back to Camp Jaha as a hostage." She suggests.

"Only without the torturing, this time." He adds, remembering Lincoln all those months ago. It's painful, yet somehow it hurts less than telling Clarke that she doesn't even know what her old home is called, these days.

She nods. "Yeah. We should lay low here until Azgeda are out of the way."

"That'll be a while. They were everywhere when I came through." He's pretty happy with how thoroughly the captive is restrained, now, so he sits heavily on the floor and stretches his stabbed leg out in front of him.

All at once Clarke is hovering over him. "Let me take a look at that. God, Bellamy, you didn't say he'd hurt you. You should have started with that." She scolds him, making a start at patching him up.

"It's not deep." He says with a shrug, because to be clear it hurts like hell, but he doesn't want Clarke to make a big deal of it. "There's a proper med kit back in the rover, we'll be there soon enough."

"The rover?"

"Yeah. We came as far as the trading post in the rover. And then we hid out in a cave when Azgeda showed up. The others are still there now."

"The others?"

"Kane, Monty." He doesn't bother mentioning the rest of the party. She barely cares about the people she does know well, as far as he can tell from her actions in abandoning them three months ago.

"You went rogue." She summarises, astute as ever.

"Yeah."

She's shaking her head but there's a small smile playing about her lips. "Thanks, Bellamy. I don't think he was planning to kill me but we can find that out when we get him back to camp."

"You're coming back?" He asks, trying not to sound too hopeful, trying not to read too much into her use of _we_.

"I guess."

Yeah, that's not as reassuring as he was hoping for. She's finished bandaging his leg, now, but they can still hear the unmistakable sound of a large army marching not so far away. So it is that they sit there in awkward silence for a moment, staring at the floor rather than at each other.

Bellamy hates it. This is his best friend – or, at least, she was. And more than that, he's pretty sure he was at least half in love with her, until Lexa walked onto the scene with all that drivel about _love is weakness_ and turned the Clarke he felt so close to into someone almost unrecognisable.

And then, of course, what they had to do in that mountain finished the job. It turned her, once and for all, into someone _completely_ unrecognisable.

He's surprised when she is the one to break the silence.

"How are things at Camp Jaha? How is everyone?" She asks, in that unsettling small voice again.

"It's called Arkadia now." He tells her gently. "Your mum is busy. Kane's trying to ease some of her workload, as far as I can tell. Jackson makes a fuss of her too. And I've been busy with guard training. It seems like Kane's trying to train me up for more responsibility."

"That's good." She says, voice warmer than he's heard it since he arrived.

He nods, and lapses into silence once more. He'd like to tell her more cheerful news of her old home – or at least, news that isn't entirely terrible, that won't put her off coming back with him. But there's nothing that he can think of to say. He can't tell her about Jasper's drinking and grief, about Raven's pain and the way she pushed away Wick, about the fact that her dead best friend's father is still missing on his fool's errand.

And he doesn't want to tell her about Gina, for reasons he doesn't care to analyse too deeply.

"Monty and Harper have been training for the guard as well." He offers in the end. "It seems like they're doing OK. They're spending a lot of time together. I think – I wonder if maybe there's something between them. Not that it's any of my business."

She manages a smile at that. "Good for them. They deserve to be happy."

Another excruciating pause. A few more moments' proof that he no longer knows how to talk to this woman.

"How have you been?" He asks in the end, a hopelessly broad question, but the best he can manage.

She frowns. "I'm alive."

Yes. That's it, isn't it? That's life on the ground. As long as you're still breathing, you're not supposed to complain.

…...

The army fades into the distance, in time, and the others appear from the cave. Bellamy and Clarke arrange for a couple of them to carry the unconscious hostage, and then they all continue in the direction of the rover together.

Bellamy cannot make sense of it. All attempts at conversation between him and Clarke still feel hopelessly stilted. Yet she makes absolutely no move to leave his side. She greets the others in as few words as she can get away with, and then insists on walking at his shoulder, on hand to help him over any obstacles that prove a challenge to his injured leg, even inviting him to lean on her when his strength starts to give out.

He does allow himself to lean on her, just a little, just the last few moments before they arrive at the rover. Just because he's missed the warmth of her, the feeling of her solid and alive at his side and in his arms.

It's much the same on the rover ride back to Arkadia. Clarke insists on sitting at Bellamy's side, but then says barely a dozen words to him for the whole duration of the journey. He wonders whether she's motivated by guilt, perhaps – the guilt of knowing that he put himself in danger and took a knife to the leg to save her.

Or perhaps she's just forgotten how to make conversation, during those three months she was alone. That thought upsets him, so he doesn't dwell on it.

It's more or less dark by the time they get back to Arkadia. This has been a long day – it feels like the longest of Bellamy's life, but he knows that can't actually be the truth. He watches Kane coordinate the imprisonment of the hostage and tries to gather the energy to stand up. His leg is stiff and aching, now, as he shuffles awkwardly out of the rover.

"Let me come with you to med bay." Clarke offers.

"That's OK. I can get there." After all, he knows where it is, and she doesn't. She doesn't know because she _left_.

"I want to come with you. And maybe my mum will be there."

He admits defeat with a heavy nod, mostly because he's too tired to argue with her.

The walk to med bay is agonising. That's partly because his leg is hurting, but he's certainly had worse. It's more because it represents a return to that awkward silence with Clarke, tension so stiff he could cut it with a knife.

Once again, she is the one who has the courage to break the silence.

"What are you doing after this? Do you want to get that drink?" She asks, voice trembling.

He nearly says yes. He comes so close to just doing it, embracing wholeheartedly the chance to spend some time with her and maybe bid farewell to this abhorrent awkwardness.

But he can't. He mustn't, because it's already a good four hours later than Gina was expecting him home. And he already knows he's a monster – he has killed so many people he has long since lost count – but he's not _that kind_ of monster. He's not the kind of monster who can drink with Clarke whilst standing up his good, kind, inoffensive girlfriend.

Gina deserves better than that.

"I can't. Sorry. I have plans." He hopes she can hear the regret in his tone. He can certainly feel it, crowding his throat and threatening to choke him.

"No worries. Maybe another time?" She offers, a little too quick, a little too bright and breezy.

He grits his teeth and forces himself to say it. "I don't have a lot of free time these days. Because – I'm seeing someone. I have a girlfriend. Gina Martin."

She nods, too quickly to be entirely natural. "I'm happy for you." She claims, in a tone he thinks would be more appropriate if she were actually offering condolences. "Great. That's good. It's nice that you've had someone these last few months."

He snorts, because she couldn't be more wrong. Screwing a kind woman who smiles a lot is no good remedy for the loneliness of watching someone you love walk off into the unknown without you. But he can't say any of that, of course, because he and Clarke are not doing so well at honest conversation, right now.

"I really would like us to catch up when I have time." He offers, even though that completely undermines everything he just said. He simply cannot help it, somehow. He cannot stop himself from revealing how much he's missed her.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. I'd like that. You can get yourself to med bay from here, right? It's not that far, is it?" She is already turning away to escape before the words have even left her lips.

He nods, and lets her go. He's always had an unfortunate habit of letting Clarke go.

…...

Jackson is a good doctor. Bellamy forms this opinion not just because he does a quick and competent job of seeing to his leg, but mostly because he asks no difficult questions as he does so. He doesn't ask why Bellamy is still dressed in Azgeda clothing, nor how he got stabbed in the leg, nor whether the rumours that Clarke is back in camp are true.

When his wound is stitched, Bellamy knows he needs to go straight to Gina. He's already kept her waiting long enough. He'd like to nip home to take a shower and change into some more everyday clothes, but he thinks that desire is probably born more from procrastination than decency.

He's nervous as he approaches her door. That's an interesting development – he's never been nervous to see Gina before. Everything is almost _too_ comfortable with Gina. She doesn't challenge him like Clarke does, or call him out when he's in the wrong. She's just sort of soft, and steady, and reassuring. Not that Clarke can't be all those things, too – the great thing about Clarke is the way she can be so kind despite the tough choices she's called to make.

Huh. He probably shouldn't be comparing his girlfriend with Clarke like that.

It's just difficult not to, OK? It didn't matter while Clarke was gone. It didn't matter because, to be honest, he wasn't sure she was coming back. He's still not convinced all of her has come back – it's like she's left part of her confidence out there, lost in the woods somewhere. And he doesn't know whether she's staying, of course. She might just be here until they get some answers out of the hostage.

Heaven help him, but he hopes she's staying. He's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

No. He mustn't think like that. He's here to see Gina. Steady, reliable Gina, who would never leave him to cope all alone like Clarke has done.

He knocks at her door and hears her call out in welcome.

"Gina. Hey." He offers, self-conscious for reasons he doesn't care to identify.

"Come on in." She says, waving at a chair.

That's interesting. Normally she waves at the bed. Maybe it's because he still smells like an Azgeda corpse, he reasons, as he takes a seat.

"So Clarke's back." Gina says, tone even.

Well, then. It looks like they're getting straight to it.

"You heard already?" He asks.

"Yeah. I think the whole camp has heard. It's quite a story, isn't it?"

He hums. He can see that might be true.

She continues. "I have to say I'm surprised you're here. I thought you'd be catching up with her." There is no malice in her words, only honesty, and it makes him hate himself slightly.

"I came straight here from med bay. I'm sorry I'm so late – I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer." He wonders if that makes it sound like he's here out of obligation rather than by preference. That's slightly true, he has to concede, but he still shouldn't have said it.

Gina carries on regardless. "It's OK. I think – maybe we ought to talk about this."

"Talk?" He grinds out, wondering where this is going.

She takes a deep breath. "I don't think you disobeying orders to walk across a battlefield to rescue another woman bodes well for our relationship." She gets the words out, and Bellamy gets the impression she's been planning them for a little while now – presumably for the last couple of hours that he's kept her waiting.

He nods, serious, because she makes a sound point. In fact, he doesn't really have an argument he can make against it – only that he likes Gina well enough, and she's a good woman.

And she deserves better.

"You might be right." He concedes heavily. "It's not – it's not like that. I didn't want to hurt you."

"It's not like that _yet_." She corrects him, composed and firm.

So that's that. He wonders, now, why he was so nervous on the walk here. It's obvious, isn't it? He has no business dating anyone else as long as Clarke is alive. Whether she's here, or whether she's staying, or whether he's angry with her for leaving – none of these things matter.

All that matters is that she is Clarke, and he is Bellamy, and he will always care about her more.

With that decided, he heads home. It's been a long day, and he's on dawn patrol tomorrow, and he desperately needs to get some sleep.

…...

He admits defeat and acknowledges that he can't get to sleep some time in the early hours, that magical part of the night where everything is still and it feels like anything is possible.

That must be why it suddenly seems like a good idea to go and see Clarke.

It's madness. It's ill-judged. It's _impulsive_.

But he decides to do it anyway.

He's had a good day for acting on instinct, the way he sees it. He has instinct to thank for the fact Clarke is now alive and well and presumably sound asleep in her old room. So he figures he might as well follow his gut now.

It's not so illogical that he wants to go see her, he tries to tell himself. He's allowed to feel a bit protective, after everything that has happened. She did say she wanted them to find a moment to catch up properly, and he wants that too. And apart from anything else, he has no intention of letting Clarke slip through his fingers ever again. If there's any chance at all that she might be planning to leave camp as soon as the hostage situation has been handled, he needs to say his piece before then.

He wonders whether he ought to plan a few words, as he throws on his clothes and heads down the hallway. Some stirring speech about how they're better together, or maybe some logical arguments for why she should never leave him again. Clarke likes logical arguments, after all.

He can't think of any logical arguments, though. That always was her skill set. All he can think is anger and desire and concern, all tied together in confusing knots.

He knocks on the door, realising too late that she ought to be asleep right now. But she's not – or at least she's not any more – and she calls out to him to come in.

He opens the door. "Hey." He offers, inadequate, taking in the scene before him. She wasn't asleep. He can tell that from the sketchbook open on her knees as she sits up in bed.

"Hey." She repeats back at him, as he closes the door behind him.

He hovers there, just inside the threshold, wondering what to do. He really ought to have prepared some words, because he can feel himself on the verge of letting something slip, exhaustion and relief and anger pushing him to say what he knows he shouldn't. He needs to get a hold of himself, needs to ask after her mother or make a start on catching up on polite conversation.

Too late. The words are spilling out of him, quite without his permission.

"I just missed you." He tells her, voice raw. "I missed you so damn much. We pulled that lever together, we were supposed to face it together, and then you left me to do it alone."

"You're right. You're completely right. I'm so sorry." He thinks she might be on the verge of tears, so he forces himself to reign it in a little.

"I'm sorry for showing up in the middle of the night like this." He offers weakly, clutching his hands on his hips to stop himself from doing something really stupid like running over there and hugging her.

"That's OK. I kind of wanted to come look for you myself but I didn't want to interrupt your time with Gina."

He snorts. "Yeah. About that. It turns out I'm not dating Gina any more."

She looks concerned, and that almost breaks him. After all this – slaying mountains, surviving Earth – she's still worried about his happiness. "What happened? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine." He says. It's callous, but it's the truth. "She suggested that maybe me rushing through that army to get to you this afternoon didn't bode well for my relationship with her." He explains, all but echoing Gina's earlier words.

To his surprise, Clarke's mouth tilts up into the tiniest smile. "She may have a point." She says, tone almost light.

"That's what I thought, too."

She nods. He nods. They stand there, looking at each other, and that dreaded silence descends once more. Only this time, Bellamy thinks, it doesn't feel quite so awkward. They've talked about some of what lies between them, and that's better than nothing.

Once again, Clarke speaks up. "You're right. I should have stayed to face it with you. I didn't do much _healing_ or whatever while I was out there. Mostly I just found myself remembering that you and me, we're better together."

"Don't ever leave me again." He says, half way between barking out an order and pleading with her. It's the perfect representation, he thinks, of the mixed feelings he's been fighting since she's been gone – anger and loneliness and love all rolled into one.

"I won't. Not ever. I don't think I could."

That decides it. He kicks his shoes off his feet and haphazardly sends them in the general direction of the empty space under Clarke's bed. He shrugs out of his guard jacket and his heavy trousers, until he's standing at the side of the bed in only a T shirt and boxers.

Clarke doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. She smiles up at him, tentative but true, and sets her sketchbook down on the floor at her side of the bed. Then she draws back the covers on the side of the bed closest to him.

It's been a long day, but at last it seems like he and Clarke have remembered how to communicate effectively once more. He gets into the bed, and she wastes no time in reaching out for his hand, pulling his arm snug around her waist, scooting back so that she is nestled against him.

"Welcome home." He murmurs.

"It's good to be back."

He nuzzles aside some of her hair and presses a soft kiss to her neck, just one. He thinks that's fair enough – she kissed his cheek when she left, and now he's kissing her neck to welcome her back. There will be other days for other kisses, he is certain of it. There will be other days, too, for talking about everything that has happened in the last three months, for crying together, for laughing together, for simply being together.

Today it's enough just to hold her, and to know that he's not alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
